


The Ones That Bleed Visibly Hurt the Least

by mandaree1



Category: Steven Universe - Fandom
Genre: Blood, F/M, Gen, Mental and physical manipulation, Not cute and fluffy, Pre and Post intervention Pearl training, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 12:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6518890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandaree1/pseuds/mandaree1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connie's first four, real scars. The first is from Pearl; the second, she's gives herself. The third comes from a mission. The fourth; a battlefield. Pearl's hurts, her's is a distant memory, and the third can be soothed with some healing spit. The fourth hurts both inside and out; this is the one she's the most proud of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The first is always the hardest

Connie's first scar comes from Pearl. She's eleven.

It's a big honor, she'd decided afterwards. Better someone she knows and trusts than to be left, clueless, to bleed out onto the battlefield (an occurrence that will assuredly repeat itself multiple times before the final blow is someday struck). Even still.

It hurt.

* * *

 

Connie swung her sword hard, heart racing in her chest. Part of her, even now, was terrified of getting hurt; another, larger, part of her was willing to do anything, fight anything and anyone, rather than attack and possibly wound her mentor like this.

It's not real, she tells herself, arms vibrating with the force of Pearl's blocking motion. Gems are made of light. She couldn't _really_ hurt the woman. At least, not beyond repair. And as Steven's knight, it would someday be her job to spill blood to protect him. Hers, or someone else's, it didn't matter. She needed to be ready.

"Focus." Pearl hisses. Her blue eyes held none of the warmth they'd once had, but this is training. Training is different from their day-to-day relationship by far, especially on days like today, when Steven is busy with one thing or another and isn't around to watch the madness happen.

She's breaking, Connie realized. They're both breaking; falling into each other, hurting and crashing to pieces in the confusion, and it's too late to stop it now. A war was just around the corner, and she had to be ready. She had to be.

Being broken means nothing compared to all that would be laid before her after she'd rebuilt; a world of freedom and magic, where it's okay if she toes the line between maturity and childhood, and is somehow respected for it.

But then there's a sharp pain in her side, and Connie falls to her knees, then her rear, with a whimper. A single, perfect cut stretches from her stomach to the back of her right hip. It's not that deep- the gem could have easily chopped her in half- but she felt a spark of fear nonetheless as she presses her hand against it, eyes wide with pain she doesn't dare yell out.

Pearl tutted. "Can you get up?"

She grit her teeth. "Yes, ma'am." Steven over everything. Steven first. "Just... give me a second, please."

The gem blinks at her a long moment before turning on her heel to give the girl some privacy. "I'll go get you something to drink. Liquids are vital."

Connie only vaguely hears the warp pad flare up. All she can think about is the blood dripping onto the arena floor.

Now that she's alone, the fear easily builds into full-fledged terror. The blood gently plinking to the ground makes her stiffen, taking in ragged breathes or air to keep from crying.

"I'm not going to die." She says, speaking aloud in an attempt to console herself. "It doesn't even need stitches."

Pearl quietly walks her through wrapping the wound while Connie sipped at a juice box. She'd brought three total, just in case, and she's exhausted enough to easily drain them one by one.

"Humans are so fragile." Pearl comments with something akin to disgust as she makes the final touches to the dressing. She doesn't take any offense; she knows the gem is just angry about her limitations. _She's_ angry about her limitations.

"Yes, ma'am."

"You know this is only the first of many, right?"

Connie isn't sure if she meant wounds, or scars. "Yes, ma'am."

Pearl fixed her a look, blue eyes burning with things left unsaid. "I could get Steven."

Connie hesitates only for a second, trying to decide if it's a test or not, before shaking her head. Steven isn't an idiot; he's bound to notice it's not a wound from a fall or a scrape. "It doesn't need stitches. It'll heal. I'm fine."

She nods and stands up, arms behind her back. "Think of this as an opportunity, Connie. Humans always believe that they're invincible, that they can't get hurt. You're hurt. This isn't even a battle, and yet you're _bleeding_. You need to realize your own weaknesses."

Connie swallows. At this age, discovering your own morality is a bit disconcerting. Had she been an adult, they'd call it a mid-life crisis. "I thought weakness didn't matter, as long as I can protect him?"

Pearl nods her head. She seems proud of her grasp of her knightly duties and all they entail. "They don't. The more you know about them, however, the more you can work on and improve. You can't fix your ability to die so easily-" She says with a shrug, as though it doesn't matter, and, in a way, it doesn't. "But you can work on protecting your side better."

Connie nods, a warmth blossoming in her chest. It's nice to know she can be useful, even when she fails. "Yes, ma'am. I'm ready to try again."

This time, Pearl lets a holo-Pearl work her through the motions.

This time, Connie feels no stab of concern as she slices it, right through the stomach, just like the wound on her body.

* * *

 

They both come to their senses later, thanks to Steven, and apologize. Training is never that harsh again. The mark still lingers on her side, perfectly hidden from prying eyes.

Connie sees the concern in her mentor's eyes, and knows, without a doubt, that this is one of those things best left hidden away and forgotten. Not just from her parents, but from everyone. She shouldn't talk about it, for their sakes.

Connie doesn't talk about it.


	2. Sometimes, you end up hurting yourself.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She sits up and reaches under her bed, pulling out a sword. Her parents are asleep by now- she'd made sure to wait long enough- so she doesn't have to worry about one of them barging in, so long as she's quiet.
> 
> Pearl had given it to her once, as a test. "Do what you're willing to do." She'd said, a dark twinkle in her eye.

The second scar, she gives herself.

It's not a physical scar. It's a mental one, clinging to the back of everything she does, every thought she has.

She's twelve.

It scared her.

* * *

 

It's late at night, but Connie can't sleep. Her room is pitch black, reminding her of the days her sight was this bad all day around and her glasses were actually useful.

She sits up and reaches under her bed, pulling out a sword. Her parents are asleep by now- she'd made sure to wait long enough- so she doesn't have to worry about one of them barging in, so long as she's quiet.

Pearl had given it to her once, as a test. "Do what you're willing to do." She'd said, a dark twinkle in her eye.

Connie knows what she wants. An oath sworn over it, or perhaps a sheen of blood coating the metal and a bandage on her arm, as proof of her dedication. Fighting the battle is nothing. _Living_ the battle is everything.

She quietly positions it, sharp end down, directly over her heart, feeling the unyielding steel press against her skin. With every outward breath it digs in. Her hands shook. She imagines the sword magically forcing itself through her chest, killing her, leaving a bloodied corpse for her family to find the next day. A small noise, high-pitched and keened, escaped her at the thought, but nothing stirred.

She's going to die someday, she reflected. It won't be pretty or painless, either; she's going to bleed to death somewhere, sprawled out for all the world to see. She knew as much; she'd been told as much.

"It's all worth it." Pearl had insisted. "It always is."

Even still, doubt flickered in the back of her mind. What if she died before the war ended, leaving Steven to fight _her_ battles? All that work, all those fights, with nothing to show for it. Just a blood stain and her friend to fend for himself.

She can't protect him as well as she'd like, and it bothers her.

And what about her _parents_? They didn't know anything. How would they feel when, one day, she comes home in a casket? They would never understand, would never know, just how important this is to her. It'd tear their hearts apart, and the fact they didn't get it would only rub salt in their wounds.

Despite this, despite all these doubts and what-ifs, Connie didn't feel her loyalty waver in the slightest. It didn't matter what happened to her, so long as she got to play her part in keeping the planet safe.

 _I can't hurt them like this_ , she thought, grip loosening on the blade. _But I can't back down, either._

The sword fell.

Connie watches, horrified, as it falls towards her. She pictures it slicing through her skull- closer to the left one than the right, but still directly between the eyes- and leaving her with nothing but the ability to _scream_ and cry as she slipped away, when her hands shoot out of their own accord and halts its descent. She somehow did all of this without making a sound, not counting her staggered breathing.

Gasping for air, she gently sets the weapon on the floor with shaking fingers, nudging it under the bed once again for safekeeping. She'd find a better hiding place for it tomorrow.

She's crying. Her cheeks feel warm.

A tiny nick has appeared on her chest, right above her heart. It stings.

She cries even harder, face buried in her hands.

They can never know.

* * *

 

Connie gives the sword back eventually. She'd never been sure what to do with it, exactly, and it had been left to gather dust, until finally she'd gathered the courage to bring the weapon to practice.

"Thank you, Connie." Pearl gently takes the weapon. It's post-intervention Pearl, so her eyes are bright with worry, not dim with darkness. "I'd thought you'd forgotten about it."

"I'm sorry, Pearl." She replies earnestly.

Alarm flickers across her face. "For what?"

"I didn't clean it."

Pearl smiles. It's obvious she's glad that no bodily harm came to her by way of this sword. "It's not a problem, I promise."

Connie never mentions the tiny nick on her chest. Nor does she speak of the fear making itself at home in her gut at the thought of not being able to protect Steven. Those are her battles. Her demons.

They wouldn't understand.


	3. Breaking a bone isn't fun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pride is a dangerous thing.

The third scar is more of a battle wound than anything else. She's fourteen.

She won't say she's proud of it, because she isn't. But, in a sense, that's the point.

Remembering the losses is more important than remembering the wins, sometimes.

* * *

 

Connie has been going on missions for awhile now, and she's quite proud of that.

Not the really big ones, obviously. Some things are just too strong for a human, even one that's been trained as well as her. The temperatures are too extreme or the monster is too powerful or the secrets are too secret. Connie isn't bothered by this. Her wish was always to do all that she could, which she is. But what she _can't_ do is everything.

Nevertheless, she's proud of how far she's come. She's proud the gems feel like they can rely on her. She's proud that she's _worth_ something, no matter how small that something really is.

Steven's proud too, although that's probably a silly reason to be giddy. He's always proud of her. He's proud of the sun for rising.

Still. It makes her happy.

"Look out!"

She suddenly finds herself being bodily pitched forward. It'd been a simple mission, just a rogue gem monster, when suddenly a load of rocks came flying towards her.

The thought that'd crossed her mind, ironically enough, wasn't _i'm going to die_. It was a mixture of _I hate hospital bills_ and _my mother is going to kill me._

That says something about her, she's sure, but Connie couldn't tell you what.

Her ears go deaf for a second as the rocks fall to the ground around her. One larger stone cuts her down directly at the knee. The leg is broken.

"Ow." She hisses, swallowing a second scream. She won't deny the first one occurred.

"Ya'll right?"

She squints up at the figure of Amethyst, whose currently holding up their little hole of salvation with her back, using her Purple Puma form. She has no doubt the woman could shrug the rubble away with ease, but is more worried about her staying safe.

"Been better." She mumbles, then winces at how ungrateful that sounds. "You okay?"

"Who, me? I could do this for days." She calmly flexes her shoulders. "That looks like it hurts."

Amethyst nods to her broken knee. Connie is thankful for the lack of light, seeing how they mask the tear tracks on her face.

"It doesn't tickle." She grits out. Her voice is breathy with pain.

"Oh. Uh, don't worry. Once they finish up, they'll come find us." Amethyst looks away; Connie doesn't imagine the (emotional) pain in her voice. "Priorities, y'know?"

A surge of bitterness rose up inside her. It's no one's fault but her own, of course, but it still hurt to know she was left to bleed while the others fought.

"Right." She replies, flatly. "Priorities."

Focus, she tells herself. She's of no help to the gems wallowing in pity. (Looking back on it now, she wonders if those are the exact words that ran through the purple gem's mind as well.)

 _Review your shortcomings in battle and learn from them_ , Pearl had taught her once.

Connie reviewed.

She'd been too fast to leap into the fray, for one. She was a defense fighter, yet she'd jumped in almost right after the gems. Her dodging could obviously use some work.

_I'm expendable._

She shook the thought away. _That's not a shortcoming. Moving on._

She should probably start wearing armor. Any sort of protection would be good, so long as she used it correctly. She would have to ask Pearl about that later.

 _This is my fault_ , she admits to herself, shifting her one good leg. Her thoughts are slow to come and quick to go, but she's faring pretty well for a girl with a broken knee. _I'm too proud._

Eventually Garnet digs them out. Connie feels incredibly humiliated as the gem hauls her out, but she supposes crawling out wouldn't be any better.

Steven is already waiting for her with a palmful of healing spit. Her knee feels better in an instant, but she blocks him from touching the bleeding wound just under it.

"Leave it."

"But-"

"Scars are cool. Just leave it."

Steven slowly nods and pulls away, helping her to her feet. He holds her hand protectively. "Let's go home."

* * *

 

Connie doesn't hide this scar.

She wears shorts in the summer and swimsuits when they're swimming. She doesn't want to hide it. Quite the opposite; she wants people to notice it and ask. She _has_ to tell the story over and over again.

This is a lesson she can't afford to forget.

 


	4. Battle is a terrible thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connie gets rescued by a certain gem.

The last scar is one she's proud of.

It's not that this big, heroic thing. On the battlefield, there are no heroes; merely people trying to survive. Some of those people do amazing things. Connie is not one of them.

She's fifteen.

She almost dies.

* * *

 

There's fire everywhere, although Connie would be hard-pressed to tell you when and how it started. Beach City was long evacuated, so the town lays dormant beneath the screams of war.

Steven is... somewhere else. Connie doesn't know where. She's a bit concerned, but also not really; Garnet had been by his side, and the fusion is far stronger than she is.

Opal is above them, playing sharpshooter. Peridot is by her side, blasting at gems with her cannon. That perpetually terrified look is back on her face.

Connie feels calm. Adrenaline is pumping through her veins; fear has long since vanished. If she was to die here, fallen by a Homeworld gem, it would be for the right reasons.

But, still. It'd make Steven cry.

Connie fights harder.

She hears a roar behind her and is halfway through turning when a blade is forced through her stomach.

Peridot screeches. "Connie!"

She attempts a weak stab at the gem, but what's done is done. Connie falls to her knees with a wet sound; her body sliding off the weapon, leaving it encrusted with blood.

 _I'm going to die,_ she thinks. It's the first time such a thought has been _real_ to her. Death was always a hypothetical thing, a reaper who'd come for her when she was due. Now it was real; real and ugly.

 _I'm going to die_ , her mind repeats. She numbly presses her hands to the wound. _It's going to hurt. It already_ does _hurt._

"Get away from her, you clod!"

Connie's head snaps up. The gem- a quartz, she thinks dimly. She can't ever let Amethyst know; _Peridot_ can't ever let her know. _I'm going to die_ \- is stopped mid-swing by a green force field. Peridot, a grunt of effort escaping her, slams the gem against the ground until she poofs.

"Ugly brutes." Peridot snarls, but it comes out more as a whine. The last thought on her mind is her fellow teammate; they've both come to differentiate quartz's from _Amethyst._

Mechanical hands grab her by the armpits and drag her behind the cover of piece of debris that's been half buried in the sand.

"You're doing that- that secretion thing." The technician notes, voice edging on panic. Connie hums and presses her hand to the wound once again. Pressure. Gotta put... pressure.

"Bleeding, Peridot." She slurs. "It's blood. I'm bleeding."

"I don't care _what_ it's called." She snaps, waving her arms around. Watching the movement makes Connie dizzy. "I'll go get Steven."

"No." She says before she can move, voice rising. "Steven's... Steven has things to do."

" _You_ have things to do." Peridot counters. "And _bleeding_ isn't one of them."

"Don't want him to see me like this." Connie grunts, head falling back. Everything hurts. "Gotta... gotta keep fighting."

Peridot's hands are on her shoulders before she can get her legs under her. "If you even _think_ of moving I'll knock you unconscious."

"You don't know how."

"I'll find a way!" Her teeth go pointy with rage.

Connie laughs, but it comes out a cough. Spasms of pain hit her. "Ow." She whimpers.

"That's it. I'm getting help."

"Peridot-"

"If you die, they'll crush my gem in a nanosecond." Peridot hisses, peering over their barricade. "If anything, do it for that."

Connie can't argue that. She hates to cause others pain. "Take your time." She calls weakly.

Peridot's a good teammate. The Crystal Gems are lucky to have her.

She eventually blacks out.

* * *

 

Peridot watches over her as she recovers. She grunts something about the frailness of humanity as she unwraps and re-wraps her wounds.

"You could send me home." Connie points out. "My mother _is_ a doctor."

"I don't trust human medicine." Peridot replies simply. "It's all so... barbaric."

Eventually she heals enough to be put back in action. Rigorous training needs to be done to help get her back to her old level after months of bed rest.

(They're all really paranoid, her family especially. Connie lets them fuss.)

"Come on." Steven takes her hand one day. "I wanna get you a new sword."

"My sword isn't broken." She reminds him, but lets him lead her to where Lion is waiting. She has a love of weapons she can't deny.

"Still." Is all he says. Steven knows she likes them too.

Lion leads them through a portal to Rose's Armory. Steven sets his hand on the controls and concentrates.

Connie feels respect well up inside her as the familiar sight of the Armor Of The Fallen rises up. The pairs of armor had drawn childlike fascination out of her, the first time she saw them; now she felt the urge to lower her head, and did so.

"They're like me." She tells him quietly. Her shoulders straighten with pride as she comes to stand in front of a pair. "Human fighters."

They were humans who'd fought in a war with no hope of living, who'd put their lives aside in order to help keep the world safe. The type of person she could only strive to be.

"Yeah." Steven answers, voice hushed. He comes to stand by her side. "I thought you were gonna _be_ one of them." _Dead_.

Connie grabs his hand. "I wouldn't mind the honor, someday." She admits. "But I want to earn it."

"You will be." He squeezes her fingers. "You already are."

* * *

 

It hurts, sometimes. The scars- all of them- are a reminder of that.

It hurts.

But it's worth it.


End file.
